An Illustrator’s Journey of Color and Storytelling in Tokyo

To start, could you introduce yourself?

I’m Andrew. I was born and raised in Hong Kong, and my mother is Taiwanese. After finishing high school I moved to the United States for art school, where I majored in Illustration. I later returned to Hong Kong and worked as an illustrator. Around 2018, during the large protests, I began to feel that Hong Kong was changing. It was painful. I’ve always loved Japan—there was even a time when my Japanese was better than my English (laughs). I was completely drawn to the culture. At 28, I decided to move to Japan. Soon after I arrived, COVID hit and I spent months at home. It was tough. Keeping a visa as a full-time illustrator was difficult, so I switched and took a job as a designer. Now I do graphic and branding design by day, and I work on illustration after hours. I’m hoping to get permanent residency next year. With that, I’ll be able to work more freely. I plan to keep illustrating for life, but once I have PR I want the freedom to live in Japan without being tied to one role. Honestly, even helping out at a ramen shop sounds fun. Still, I think I’ll be drawing for the rest of my life.

That’s fascinating. I didn’t realize you work as a designer by day.

I do. I almost live a double life. By day I’m at a branding-focused studio; at night I slip into my own lane and draw bold, colorful illustrations. Even the shirt I’m wearing shows I love pattern and color. That contrast is fun and full of learning, and it keeps my income steady, so I’m grateful I can run both in parallel.

As a fellow designer, I find that duality really compelling.

My team actually cheers on my illustration work. It’s a genuinely supportive place to be.

That’s wonderful. What made you fall so deeply in love with illustration?

I think it’s just in me. I’m from the Sailor Moon generation, and by around three I was drawing nonstop. It was simply that I couldn’t help but draw. I was especially pulled to manga originals more than animation. The color and dreamlike worlds overwhelmed me, and I kept drawing. I began taking it seriously in middle school when I found a supportive environment. I was self-taught but hungry to improve. In art school, they valued showing your own voice over drawing perfectly, and we also learned about copyright and the business side. Through different media and classes, I learned to honor my own interpretation whenever I draw.

I see.

When I’m drawing late at night, I sometimes ask myself, “Why am I putting myself through this?” I get obsessive about layout and color. But the feeling when I finish—the relief and the joy—nothing beats it. That’s why I keep going.

As a designer, I do a lot of client work. When I can’t quite figure out how to translate a brief into visuals, it can feel pretty tough.

Totally. That’s its own kind of struggle. It’s hard to keep pushing when you don’t know what the client’s “right answer” is. Illustration sits in a similar place, somewhere between design and art. Our job is to translate a client’s vision through our hands, but not as a perfect replica. Our own touch and interpretation inevitably come through. So I see it as half for the client, half my style. When someone says, “I want Andrew to draw this,” there’s an answer only I can give. That mystery is what makes it exciting and beautiful. By day, I’m doing company work where guidelines come first, so my personal style doesn’t always matter. But that’s its own education, and I learn things that are totally different from illustration.

Do you remember your first job as an illustrator?

I do. It was back in art school, when I was completely in “artist mode,” lost in my own world. Then I got a request to design a theatre poster. The title was set, but the rest was wide open. It was basically, “draw whatever you think fits.” That was the first time I made something for someone else and got paid for it. I was around 23. My style was totally different from what I do now, but the experience left a big mark on me.

So your style evolved after that?

It did. I started out fully analog, with watercolor and ink. But analog doesn’t allow for revisions, scanning is a hassle, and it isn’t always practical for client work. To work professionally, I realized I needed to factor in other people’s workflow, so I brought digital into my process. These days I’m mostly digital, but I’m intentional about preserving that analog texture. Holding that balance is the tricky part.

Next question. From everything you’ve shared, your love for illustration really comes through. When do you feel the happiest while you’re drawing?

Two moments. First, when I get a brief and start sketching my own take. The ideas open up and I feel like I’m running across a wide open field. Second, when I present a piece I truly believe in and the client lights up with a real “wow.” Money aside, feeling that pure love for the work is special. Getting there is hard and messy, which is exactly why the joy at the end hits so deeply.

That’s wonderful. I was especially struck by what you said about interpreting a brief in your own way and finding inspiration there. Have you had any recent projects where that kind of “interesting interpretation” really came through?

Yes… Most of my work is in fashion and music, but there was one unusual project about five years ago. A long-standing café in Hong Kong, originally a herbal medicine shop with more than 200 years of history, reached out to me. They had renovated the space into a café and wanted a package design for a new series that combined “herbal medicine and coffee beans.” It was such a unique brief. I came up with the idea of packaging coffee beans inside a bag that looked like a traditional medicine pouch, layered with my illustration on top. I started with analog hand-drawn sketches and then developed them into the final package design. It’s the kind of project I don’t think I’ll encounter again even if I work for decades. It was such a rare and inspiring experience.

That’s so unique. On the flip side, have you ever had an experience that felt especially tough. Maybe even a moment when you thought, “I can’t do this anymore”?

I have. For example, projects that came through an agency, there were moments when I felt I just couldn’t deliver what the client wanted. Not because of skill, but because their expectations and the reason they came to me didn’t really align. The hardest part is when you pour everything into a project and it never sees the light of day. Sometimes it’s budget cuts, sometimes the client’s own situation, but even if I’m paid, it’s heartbreaking when the work doesn’t get released. And, of course, it always seems to be the good ones that get shelved. In those cases, I’ll respect the contracts and copyrights, but after some time I might rework the piece and quietly add it to my portfolio.

Did you feel any uncertainty early in your career?

Every single day (laughs). I was constantly asking myself, How will people find out about me? How will I sell my work? But I’ve come to see that uncertainty as important. If I were wildly successful with zero doubts, I’d probably stop trying new things. When Instagram first launched Reels, for example, I thought, “No way. I can’t show my process on camera.” But even with that fear, I pushed myself to try filming and editing, and over time I got more comfortable. Those nerves pushed me to adapt and improve. For me, uncertainty is fuel. It keeps me moving and creating.

You seem like a very positive person.

I am—pretty much from the moment I wake up (laughs). I believe a happy aura spreads. When I show up at an event in clothes I love, with my own illustration on my phone case, conversations just spark naturally and sometimes even turn into work. When I choose to be happy first, it feels like the world comes closer on its own.

What does illustration mean to you?

For me, it’s a communication tool—a way to tell stories and deliver messages. Fine art often leaves interpretation entirely to the viewer, but illustration is different. It has to be designed so people can actually read what you want to say. When I create a series or a collection, I’m always thinking about the theme. What I want people to take away, what I want them to know through the work.

If you weren’t an illustrator, what do you think you’d be doing?

Honestly, I can’t imagine anything else. Illustration is the only way I know how to make a living. But if I didn’t have to work? I’d probably spend 70% of my time gaming and 30% drawing (laughs). Still, even through games I’d end up inspired by the art and worlds, and I’d want to create. At a recent pop-up, I made pieces that were just things I personally wanted to draw—and people actually bought them. That was such a joy. Those moments when passion and work connect are the best.

I’d love to hear about Tokyo. What does this city mean to you?

For me, Tokyo isn’t the goal. It’s the starting line. When I first traveled to Japan as a kid, I went to Harajuku. Punk, vintage, Americana, and so many other styles coexisted, and everyone respected each other’s expression. I was shocked in the best way. It was a place where you could be yourself without being laughed at. As long as you weren’t hurting anyone, anything was possible. These days, I sometimes feel like Japan’s unique “ism” has been diluted by the rise of K-pop and overseas culture. But I still love Japan as it is now. And the energy of late ’90s to early 2000s Harajuku holds a special place in my heart. It still pushes me forward, reminding me this is the place where I want to create.

In Japan, there are these unspoken rules—like reading the air—that aren’t directly told to you, but people end up putting restrictions on themselves. That’s why it feels so refreshing to hear how you see Japan.

Exactly. Honestly, if I had been born Japanese, maybe I wouldn’t want to stay here. It’s not that I want to become Japanese, but I just want to be in Japan. My Japanese isn’t bad, but I still feel the accent and pronunciation are things I need to work on. Even so, I want to build my career here. That’s why I’m still here, and why I want to stay for a while.

Did your impression of Japan change after living here compared to before?

Not really. Mainly because I had already been to Japan dozens of times before moving. My sister lived in Nagoya and Fukuoka, so I had many chances to experience the culture. She would take me to Harajuku, or we’d spend hours at Tower Records looking for music. Every summer I’d come for about a month and live with her, so I already had a sense of what daily life here felt like. Of course, traveling and actually living are different, but for me it was just as I imagined. If anything, being here longer made me feel even more at ease.

What kind of future do you see for yourself? It could be something far away, or even just next week. What’s the furthest version of yourself you can imagine?

Of course I have big dreams, but those aren’t always easy to achieve. So I like to set goals I know I can reach first. Like saying, next week I’m definitely going out for sushi. More concretely, I want to host a small music festival at the end of the year. I’d rent a venue, invite DJs and singers I know, and make it a gathering where people can connect. At my birthday event last year, a few dozen people came, and this year I want to turn it into something even more exciting. I’ll do the decorations myself. Hang banners, make merch, and show my illustrations. I want it to be a night built together with friends. Beyond that, over the next two or three years I want to stay active in Japan and take on projects that push me into new forms of expression.

One last question. If you could say something to your past self, what would it be?

Two things. First: don’t overeat (laughs). I live with my partner now, and it’s easy to put on a bit of “happy weight.” I wish I could stop my younger self at the dinner table and say, “That’s enough!” Second: you could have come to Japan earlier. My years in the U.S. and then in Hong Kong were important, but if I’d moved sooner, maybe I would have had different encounters and experiences. I love Hong Kong, but looking back, time there felt a little blurry—like it slipped by without much shape. I think I could have used my energy more efficiently.

But if the timing had been different, maybe you wouldn’t be who you are today.

That’s true. I might not have met my partner, and the connections that shaped my life now wouldn’t have happened. I really believe things unfold in the order they’re meant to. My partner has been by my side at exhibitions and events, always supporting me—they’re such an important part of my life.

That’s wonderful. It’s exciting to imagine all the connections that will grow from here. To close, could you share one message with the world?

Don’t just go with the flow. Not because something’s trending, not because everyone else is doing it—trust your own compass and follow it. It might sound a little cheesy, but I truly believe it.